


beating the bounds

by aibari



Series: this is how it works [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Apocalypse, Canon-typical Monsters (mentioned), F/F, Holding Hands, Knitting, M/M, Making Narrative Theory Work for YOU, Podcasting, Saving the World, The Magnus Archives Femslash Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22137136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibari/pseuds/aibari
Summary: The gang's all here.A story about love, knitting, and podcasting at the end of the world.For day seven of the Magnus Archives Femslash Week 2019.5: Free day.
Relationships: Basira Hussain & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Melanie King & Jonathan Sims
Series: this is how it works [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586131
Comments: 12
Kudos: 89
Collections: The Magnus Archives Femslash Week 2019.5





	beating the bounds

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for: Minor gore, discussions of murder, Excessive Handholding

Jon and Martin show up at their door about a week after the internet comes back wrong.

“This is your fault,” Georgie says.

“I'm – I'm _so_ sorry, Georgie,” Jon says, and then Martin cuts him off to huffily explain, right there in the hallway, about the long-term manipulation efforts of Elias Bouchard, who is really Jonah Magnus in a new, shiny wrapper.

“I hate that guy,” Melanie says when Martin is done explaining. “He's the worst. I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

No-one argues with her about it.

“Look,” Martin says instead, pleading, “we're not here to cause trouble.”

Next to Melanie, Georgie tenses up.

Melanie squeezes her hand reassuringly. "Yeah, okay," she says to Jon and Martin. "Come in. Georgie, could you - tea?"

Georgie deflates a little. She squeezes Melanie's hand in return. "Sure, babe."

Melanie directs Jon and Martin to the couch. Georgie puts the kettle on.

Then they talk. Martin tells them about their trek from Scotland, about encountering things that look like people but aren't, about things rising hungry and rotting from the depths of the sea, about the sky opening vast and cruel to grasp at them with its ancient, bright blue fingers.

In return, Georgie and Melanie tell them about the podcasts they managed to get through before the internet went bad. They tell them about their irregular neighbourhood patrols, about encounters with hunters and spiders and a horrible, persistent fungus in the basement of the local Marks & Spencer.

Jon doesn't speak much at all. When he does, he quickly turns tense and uncomfortable at the sound of his own voice. It's ... weird. Melanie has seen him be dismissive and snarky and paranoid and, weirdly, something approaching soft, but never _quiet_ , not like this.

She doesn't like it.

"He has a lot of eyes now," Georgie says later, as they curl up together in bed. "Or the ... impression of eyes?"

"That ocular vibe," Melanie says, tired and a bit nonsensical. "Gives kind of a new spin on the whole "four-eyes" thing, doesn't it?"

Georgie laughs. “More like … numerous and constantly shifting-eyes.”

“Doesn't really flow, does it,” Melanie says. She tries to imagine it, Jon with a thousand eyes, blinking in and out of being, like something she might have covered on a more speculative episode of Ghost Hunt UK, back before the Magnus Institute. “Anyway, he still seems...”

“Like a person?” Georgie says quietly.

“Yeah,” Melanie says, thinking about how he'd spoken with Martin; shell cracked open, stomach bared, showing his insides soft and vulnerable in every word.

“Yeah,” Georgie says. She sighs. “I don't mean to be a bitch about … all of this.”

“I know,” Melanie says.

“I just … I'm so _tired_ of trying to help him and seeing him throw himself headfirst into, into hurting himself and other people, no matter how hard I – ” Her mouth shuts with an audible snap.

“Hey,” Melanie says, and holds her closer. She strokes the side of her neck. “I know, Georgie. I know.”

“Why wouldn't he _listen_ to me?”

“He's an idiot,” Melanie says. “And he thought he was doing something that he needed to do. And, um, he was turning into a big eye monster without knowing that was what was happening.”

Georgie sighs. “Yeah. I know, I know, it's just … hard.”

“That's okay,” Melanie says. “It's okay if it's hard. And, um, I'm here for you if you need me. Obviously.”

“I love you,” Georgie whispers into her chest.

Melanie kisses the top of her head. “I love you too.”

-

They talk a lot about how to fix things. No plan seems large enough to deal with something that covers the entire world. They are only four people, after all, and none of them are Gertrude Robinson.

Even Gertrude might have had some trouble with this one, Melanie thinks. It's not something that can be fixed with C4, for one thing.

But –

She thinks about black matter experiments that don't make any kind of scientific sense. About tape recorders piled high on a wooden coffin. About Jon asking Martin to See him in the Lonely.

About her own hands, steady, holding that awl.

About seeing and not seeing. About severing and not being seen.

“A ritual _,_ ” she says.

Georgie and Martin stop mid-argument. She can _feel_ them staring at her.

“What do you mean?” Georgie asks, a little warily.

“They don't work on logic,” Melanie says. “They work on _feeling_. And if feeling like something will work is what you need to make it work, if these things work on a kind of, of _narrative_ logic – ”

“You're saying we could use it against them,” Jon says.

Melanie startles a little. She had almost forgotten he was there.

“ _Oh_ ,” says Georgie.

“That's – ” says Martin.

“I think it might work,” Melanie says. 

"But there are no entities of love or, or caring, or anything else," Jon says. His voice is rough with disuse. “Rituals won't work without power.”

"No," Melanie says, "but the entities prey on our feelings. They live on fear, and on, on twisting up parts of us and using those parts against us. So if we can untwist things - if we can use that to, to starve them out -"

She pauses meaningfully, but no-one says anything. She leans forward on the couch. She wishes she could see the looks on their faces, could gauge the mood of the room a little better.

"All I'm saying is, narrative convention is their strength," she says. "But it's also their weakness, and we need to use it against them."

"We'd need the power of an entity behind it," Jon says, voice laced through with doubt. He sounds like he feels bad about saying it.

"Absoloutely not," says Georgie.

"I think ... I think we can find a way without," Melanie says. "I think I have a plan."

"Let's do it," Martin says, after a brief pause. "It's _something_ , at least."

No-one can argue with that.

-

Before they can pull off a ritual, though, they need to spread the message.

"Like that Doctor Who Christmas special," Melanie says.

"Oh my God," Georgie says, laughing. "Are we going to owe the BBC royalties after this?"

"Peter Pan did it first," Martin points out. "Well, kind of."

They don't have the podcast anymore, or the internet, which makes it harder. In the end, Georgie and Martin scavenge a radio, and they manage - with some careful consulting of _A Very Practical History of Radio Broadcasting Before the Internet_ , a book which Georgie got as a gag gift years ago that has suddenly become a lot more relevant - to cobble together something that can broadcast. They start trying to get the message out, repeating it as many times as they can: Fear lives on stories. Use stories against them. Care about each other; think about the people you love, and the people who love you. Spread the word.

It's hard to tell if any of it gets through.

They still make leaflets. Georgie and Martin go on patrols, spreading them around as far as they can. Melanie and Jon stay back at the apartment, with the Admiral. Melanie broadcasts and rebroadcasts the message. Jon sits next to her and knits; the quiet click of the needles is strangely comforting.

"I didn't know you could knit," she says once.

"My grandmother taught me," Jon says, and doesn't elaborate. He clicks his way through a few more stitches.

"Could you teach me?" Melanie asks, more out of curiosity and boredom than any real desire.

"I'll do my best," Jon says drily.

But even if he says it like he's joking, he does teach her. It takes a few days, but soon they're knitting together. Melanie still doesn't know exactly what she's doing, but it's hard to mess up a scarf.

-

Three days into broadcasting, a deep, impenetrable darkness blankets the lower end of their street. Melanie can't see it, but Georgie can, looking out of the window by the kitchen sink.

"Looks like it's one for the two of us," she says, and Melanie can hear the smile in her voice.

"Can't wait," Melanie says, and gets her torch.

It won't do much for her, but they don't know what they'll find in the dark. It doesn't hurt to be prepared, even if the Dark can't do much to her anymore.

They go out together, holding hands.

"Here's the Dark now," Georgie murmurs, soft. Melanie feels the change on her skin. The air goes damper. Colder. Around them, sounds turn flat and muted.

“Let's go,” Melanie says. They pick their way carefully through the street. It's been a while since Melanie went out on a patrol, but they've walked this area enough that the topography of the street sits right under her skin. She wears soft-soled shoes, which helps. Most of the time, she can tell where they are by the feel of the asphalt under her feet. Potholes and cracks become neon markers.

She lifts her torch and clicks it on. Next to her, Georgie does the same.

Patches of the Dark like this one are typically easy to deal with. Once you've passed through them with a torch, they tend to kind of just disappear, unless they've been there for a while.

They find Basira at the centre of the darkness.

She is curled up around something large and monstrous, Georgie tells Melanie, quiet and hushed. Something that looks like a wolf.

" _Daisy_ ," Melanie breathes. She doesn't entirely mean to.

"I couldn't do it." Basira chokes the words out, muffled, from where she's curled up at their feet.

"Is she - safe?" Georgie asks. Basira laughs. It sounds hollow.

"Is anyone, now?"

"So safe-ish, then," Melanie says. "Enough to not kill you, anyway."

She doesn't see Basira nod, but she _must_ do in the torchlight, because Georgie says, decisively, "Alright, let's get you both home."

-

Which is how they end up with a giant murderwolf trying to take over the couch.

"If you want to be on the couch, you're gonna have to be human," Melanie tells her, trying to push her away so she can sit. Daisy gives her an annoyed, doggy whuff of air in return, and stays where she is.

Jon snorts from the chair in the corner.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Melanie mutters, and gives up on reclaiming the couch. She sits down on top of Daisy instead, and turns toward where Daisy's head should be. "You asked for this."

"She likes it," Jon says, in that way where it's hard to tell if he Knows or if he just knows Daisy.

"Weird," Melanie mutters. She isn't sure if she means Jon or Daisy, exactly.

Behind them, the door opens. Three sets of footsteps trudge inside.

"How did it go?" Melanie asks.

"Got it," Basira says. She puts something down on the coffee table. Jon makes a sound like it's a severed head or something.

“One stone eye, closed, from Artefact Storage,” Georgie says, and leans down to kiss Melanie on the forehead from behind the couch. “This should interfere with Elias' whole all-seeing thing.”

“And me,” Jon says. He sounds pained.

“And you,” Georgie agrees. “Sorry, Jon, but we need to make sure he can't listen in.”

“I know, I know. It's fine.”

“We found your rib, by the way,” Martin says, a little curtly. “If you could _not_ leave parts of yourself around for anyone to pick up when we live in an apocalyptic nightmare world where wishing for horrible things makes them happen, that would be _grand_.”

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon says. “Sorry, Martin.”

“Now that that's done,” Basira says, cutting in on what's sure to be an uncomfortably awkward instalment of _The Jon and Martin Talk Softly About Their Feelings Show_ , “we need to kill Elias.”

“He'll be expecting that,” Melanie says. “Trust me.”

“Hm,” says Basira. “Maybe.”

She says it like she doubts he'll be expecting it enough to stop them.

“Will you even be able to kill him at this point?” Georgie asks.

“We'll do our best,” Basira says. Daisy perks up, body going rigid with excitement. “If everything fails, we'll encase him in concrete and drop him at the bottom of the ocean or something.”

“Don't forget to go for the eyes,” Melanie says.

“Thanks for the tip,” Basira says. “Give us five days. If we're not back by then, you should go ahead with the ritual.”

Melanie frowns. “Wait, if  _you're_ not – ?”

“Time for me to take Daisy on a walk,” Basira says. Daisy huffs something like a laugh. It doesn't entirely fit her form.

“What, now?” Georgie asks.

“Well,” Basira says. “Reckon we should eat something first.”

-

In the end, Basira and Daisy leave the morning after. They take the closed stone eye with them, and two home-knitted scarves (one is lumpy and a bit too long, because Melanie hadn't known exactly when to stop; the other feels like any scarf you might buy in a shop, because Jon's grandmother was apparently a terrifyingly efficient teacher). Melanie spends the next three days holding her breath.

They feel it when Elias dies.

Or  _Jon_ does.

He's sitting next to Melanie, draped in another of her terrible, lumpy scarves, when it happens. He goes tense, live-wire rigid, and then he begins to shake, collapsing onto the living room floor.

“Jon?” Melanie asks, concerned.

“Elias is gone,” Jon says, through gritted teeth, “I'm – next in the line of succession, hah, so to speak – ”

“ _Jon,_ ” says Martin from across the room.. Melanie hears him run towards them, towards Jon on the floor.

"It's, you n-need to go. I can't, I can't hold this back anymore, I'm not safe, you need to -"

" _No_ ," Martin says.

" _Yes_ , Martin," Jon says. He whimpers. " _Please_ \- "

"We're going," Georgie says, from behind the couch. Melanie hadn't even noticed her, but now she's taking Melanie by the arm and pulling her up and away.

"I'm not leaving," Martin says, with an angry intensity that Melanie approves of.

"M-Martin," Jon manages. "The plan -"

"I won't let you be alone with this."

"Come on," Georgie says in Melanie's ear.

Melanie staggers sideways. Her hands brush against - scarves, two by Jon and one by her, in a heap in the middle of the couch. She takes them, throws one of Jon's at where she thinks Martin's head is.

"Just in case," she tells him, as Georgie drags her out of the door, pushing her go-bag and a pair of shoes at her.

They close the door behind them and take off running. Behind them, Jon begins to scream.

-

They're halfway through the tunnels under the Institute when Melanie remembers the Admiral.

She stops dead in her tracks. "What about the Admiral?"

"The Admiral is safer there than here," Georgie says. "Jon isn't that kind of monster. And I didn't want to just let him out in the street, either, he'd just get lost."

"Okay, yeah," Melanie says. She starts walking again. Georgie takes her hand. The sound of their footsteps echoes against the stone walls of the tunnels. The air is cold and raw down here, a horrible, penetrating basement smell. Their clothes are going to smell like it for days after this, if they survive.

Melanie pulls Jon's scarf up over the lower half of her face, burrows in. It's a soft, chunky knit, and it helps ground her. So does Georgie's hand, palm warm and dry against her own.

Georgie is wearing a scarf, too. Melanie can't see it, but she knows it's hideous. It probably clashes really badly with her coat.

-

They walk for hours. It feels like days.

Finally the tunnel they're in becomes a hallway becomes a big, round room, and then they are standing at the bottom of the Panopticon.

"I love you," Georgie says, squeezing Melanie's hand.

"I love you too," says Melanie.

Then they climb the stairs.

-

At the top is a large, round space, allowing them to see into every prison cell on their level. Georgie describes it, quick and quiet and fearless.

She says: Someone has carved a circle into the stone floor, a broad, white line flecked with the rusty brown of old, dried blood.

She says: Outside of the circle, up against the banister, the remains of Jonah Magnus are stretched out and mangled to the point where it is hard to recognise them as something that was human once.

Melanie shudders. "Gross."

"Yeah," Georgie says. "Basira and Daisy were ... very thorough."

"Ready?" Melanie asks.

"Always," says Georgie.

Melanie carefully pulls their homemade radio out of her bag. She hands it to Georgie, who puts it down on the ground. Then they sit down on either side of it, in the middle of the circle, in the middle of the Panopticon.

Then they start broadcasting.

Melanie knows about symbolism. A place that lets you see everything lets you _be_ everywhere. If you are everywhere, you can reach anyone.

She says, as clearly and calmly as she can: "Hello, dear listeners. This is Melanie King with Georgie Barker, coming to you with a very special live episode of _What the Ghost_."

"Hello!" Georgie says. She squeezes Melanie's hands. Her voice is affable and warm. "We are trying something new with this, so strap in and, as they say in the Bible, do not be afraid!"

They talk about love, and belonging, and dragging yourself by your fingertips onto a ledge when you've fallen down a hole. They talk about fighting fear, about caring and emotional investment when it's hard to get out of bed in the morning. About being lonely. About reaching out.

Something happens while they talk, building up slowly, dancing like static electricity over Melanie's skin.

She doesn't know how long they've talked for, but her throat is dry. Her mouth tastes like biting on tinfoil.

"The truth is, we're going to stop this," she says. She doesn't know if they're going to stop it. She doesn't know, but she thinks they will, thinks it strongly enough that it might be fact. "But we need your help."

"Now, this is going to sound pretty hokey," Georgie says, "like something out of a fantasy novel or something. But we're living in an apocalyptic horror story right now, so why not?"

"If the story doesn't work," Melanie says, "we have to change the genre."

"Right!" Georgie squeezes her hand. "So what we need _you_ to do is think about the people you care about, and the people who care about you - and think about us, too, broadcasting from the dark depths of the Panopticon, caring about each other but also about you. About all of us, getting through this."

"And then - " As Melanie speaks, whispers pick up around them like wind. She stops.

"And _now_ ," Georgie says, "the real fun."

Melanie takes a deep breath. The whispering is so loud now that she can't really hear it. She reaches into herself and taps into a warm, sure anger, wraps it around herself like a shield.

 _"Hey!"_ she yells, leaning away from the recording equipment. "You who have come to feed on our misery! You who have brought with you all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that _crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and leads and_ **dies** _!”_

_ As she talks, the whispers rise and rise and rise in pitch until they are screaming in her ears, drowning out everything else. Melanie hears them and marks them and holds her love and anger in her chest like a living thing. _

“You prey on people you have no claim to! You prey in places you have no right to! You twist the good things and bleed the hard things and choke us on our own tongues!”

Georgie's hands are tight around hers and Jon's scarf is warm in the damp cold and there are billions of people on the planet who know people, who care about them, who are terrified and trapped and still trying. Melanie feels them or feels like she feels them all at once, an uncountable number of minds pushed against her own, full of _care_. She feels and feels and feels until she's full of it, eyes watering even as her voice holds steady.

“We will not allow you anymore!” she yells. “We are not yours! We are **ours**! This place is not yours! It is **ours**! You cannot have it! _**We cast you out!**_ ”

There is a rush of air, a screaming twist of static building and building and building until – 

-

When she wakes up, she can't tell where she is. For a moment, she wonders if she's died, but then the pain sets in. Every part of her feels like a bruise, raw and tender. She groans, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

“Melanie,” someone says, and it's Georgie, and then Georgie is there and holding her hand.

“Where are we?” Melanie asks, and winces. Pain lances through her throat with every word.

“The Archives,” Georgie says. “I think this used to be – Jon's office? He chews his pens in a pretty distinctive way.”

“Oh my God,” Melanie says, with a disbelieving snort. She regrets it immediately, but less than she probably should. She swallows, and that sucks, too. “Did … did it work?”

Without warning, Georgie has her wrapped in a tight sideways hug. Her curls brush against Melanie's mouth, and she is soft and she smells nice and she's  _ there _ , close and real and touching her.

“It worked,” Georgie says into Melanie's ear. “We did it.”

Melanie bursts into tears.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, sniffling. “I love you.”

Georgie laugh-cries into her shoulder. “I love you too.”

They sit there, holding each other, for a very long time.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. That's all, folks! Can't believe I managed to put something up all seven days, lmao. This is technically the end of this series, but I have a couple of other ideas I might write at some point.  
> 2\. The list of verbs at the end there is lifted straight from MAG160, as you ... could probably tell, haha.  
> 3\. The alternate title for signal flare + beating the bounds: Melanie Becomes a Discworld Witch  
> 4\. Remember that closed stone eye that was mentioned as an off-hand thing somewhere in season one or two? Because I can't forget it.  
> 5\. If you want, you can find me on [tumblr](https://aibari.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/aibari)!


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